


A High Priestess of the Old Religion

by doylefan22



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylefan22/pseuds/doylefan22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lady Morgana was born to be a High Priestess of the Old Religion and things should have been so different for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A High Priestess of the Old Religion

Morgause rescued Morgana from Camelot when Morgana was sixteen years old.

Morgause called it a rescue anyway. There were five High Priestesses left, including herself, and they nearly all chastised her for ‘stealing’ Morgana away. Despite their great power, they feared Uther still, feared his retribution and how the fragile wisps of their resistance might be jeopardised by this one act. Morgause, flushed with the confidence of her youth, scoffed at their concerns.

“He will not find us here. He thinks the Isle is abandoned and destroyed. And I made certain that this looked like the work of bandits.”

Brighid, the oldest amongst them - although little in her appearance gave away her true age - eyed Morgause with a dispassionate glare, not reassured by her words. She’d not become their chief survivor - the one who’d led the others to safety from Uther’s trail of death - by taking unnecessary risks. She was a woman of care, thought and caution. It’d been the only way to live through the Purge in the end. Those who’d fought back had died.

“Nothing is certain any more,” she corrected, her regal tone steady, both leader and tutor combined. She’d trained Morgause from childhood and still saw it as her duty to educate her now. A youthful Priestess was full of the wild blossom of nature, minded to act rashly if not steered upon a wiser, more sensible path.

Morgause had found her lecturers increasingly galling of late but had bit her tongue and kept her silence. She respected Brighid greatly and had no wish to openly disagree with her, yet she also had her own mind and her own opinions. She’d grown tired of hiding in the shadows, of waiting for an opportune moment that never seemed to come. The Old Religion was dying and, in her eyes, they were just letting it happen.

Then, upon discovering that she had a half sister living in Camelot, a lost Priestess….well, she could hold back no longer. It felt as if this moment was hers, a sign and a gift from the Goddess the shouldn’t be wasted.

“Which is why we must take risks,” she replied. There was confidence but also a plea for understanding in her tone. Despite their differing opinions, she wanted Brighid’s approval.

Brighid wasn’t inclined to give it.

“Risks that could kill us all,” she snapped back, her mask of calm dropping for a moment. She’d been so careful to keep them safe over the years and to see one of her own throw her caution to the wind without consultation… “Risks that could wipe out the only guardians the Old Religion has left. You would chance that for this girl?”

“Yes.” Morgause held her head high, not cowed by Brighid’s scolding. In fact, even more proud and defiant in the face of it, finding it somehow gave her strength. “Morgana is a priestess. The last one born. And our numbers are not so great that we can afford to leave one of our own in Uther’s hands.”

Her motives hadn’t been as utilitarian as she made out but if Brighid realised that then she declined to mention it. 

“An untrained and uneducated priestess,” she reasoned instead, unimpressed with the supposed boon Morgause was suggesting.

Morgause felt a surprising wash of protectiveness at the dismissive tone, her formally business-like manner slipping.

“She is a powerful Seer. None of us have that gift, not even you.”

It was an advantage that couldn’t be denied, if a currently uncontrolled one.

Brighid pierced Morgause with a hard, challenging stare, seeing the argument for it but not so easily swayed from her dislike of the whole affair. There was something else hidden in her gaze too though, a sudden spark of understanding - had Morgause given herself away? 

“And if she betrays us to her king?” she asked coolly.

“She will not.” Morgause had never spoken with more assurance.

If that statement had been a test then Morgause wasn’t sure whether she’d passed, but Brighid gave her a searching, thoughtful look that lasted too long for comfort.

“Then Morgana is your responsibility,” she finally concluded impassively. It could not be undone now and there _was_ perhaps advantage to be had from this even if she disagreed most strongly with their youngest member’s methods.

But she was the youngest no more and Morgause would see her actions through.

“You will train her,” Brighid continued. “And you will bear the weight of responsibility for all that brings.”

She dismissed Morgause with a wave of her hand and Morgause left the great, crumbling main chamber with dignified posture and determination in her steps. She was stubborn and proud and would not be proved wrong; Morgana _would_ help them. She would be a great sorceress. And Morgause would keep her safe.

Outside, Nimueh smiled at her, kissed her cheek and said _‘well done’_. She was the only one who did.

Far away, in the great keep of Camelot, Uther ranted about the kidnap of his ward and swore bloody vengeance on those who’d taken her. Even when the months passed - years following quickly on their heels - he didn’t lose interest in finding her, taking heed of every scrap of information that came his way, even though the number of search parties dwindled. Whether it was care for the girl or to soothe his wounded pride, even his closest friends wouldn’t like to say.

 

*********************

Morgause told Morgana that they were half sister’s when she brought Morgana breakfast the first morning after their arrival on the Isle.

Back in the forests around Camelot, Morgana had been afraid and it’d been too soon to drop such a revelation on her. Her fear was natural and Morgause took no concern or offence from it; kidnapped by a stranger, bound with invisible ties to her horse, the creature galloping after the other woman’s mount and ignoring Morgana’s commands to stop. She’d have been a fool not to have been afraid.

Later though she’d proved to be more perceptive than Morgause could’ve hoped for. Morgause wasn’t entirely she what she was expecting from the daughter of a lord and the ward of a king, brought up in the poison kingdom of Camelot. She’d heard rumours of Morgana’s kindness and interesting gossip about how the girl argued with the king over the executions that still took place but she hadn’t dared to make a favourable impression just yet.

One thing was clear at the start; Morgana was no screaming damsel. She’d demanded answers and explanations for a good proportion of their flight, talking as only a high born woman could with such expectation that her angry commands would be met. She’d make a fine Priestess, Morgause decided, but she declined to answer the other woman, ignoring her questions and shouts of protest. 

Eventually, she brought them to a halt in a safe, moonlit glade, many hours ride from Camelot. 

To her credit and Morgause’s relief, Morgana didn’t try to run when she was released. It was basic sense perhaps - where would she run to? - but there was a curiosity growing in her eyes and frown of confusion that gave Morgause hope. She could feel Morgana’s magic, bubbling untapped beneath the surface and perhaps Morgana could sense a kindred essence too and it made her hold back where she should have fought.

Morgause started by apologising for the manner of their meeting and assured Morgana that she meant her no harm. She still didn’t answer all Morgana’s questions, simply said that she knew Morgana had magic and that she was going to help her. That she was taking her back to her people where she’d be safe. Back to what remained of the Old Religion.

Morgana had been cautious, denying the claims at first but Morgause had fought fear with the truth; Morgana had dreams that came true. Sometimes she made things happen when she was afraid or upset. If Uther found out, it would be her death. None of them were things that Morgana could deny and once they’d been laid out so plainly, she’d followed Morgause with a tentative willingness and without the need for bounds when they’d set off again.

It was a good sign indeed.

Morgause didn’t want to keep the other woman in continued darkness though - not the way those in Camelot had done - and so gently broke the news of who she truly was the next morning. She was the daughter of Gorlois and his first wife - the lady Igraine. Uther had wanted Igraine and the fierce king of Camelot was denied nothing if you wished to remain in peace and safety. The growing child in Igraine’s belly had been a complication that neither had known about until the marriage was settled. It was a most difficult problem to deal with and Uther had been very relieved to be told that she hadn’t survived birth.

Just as Morgause considered herself to have been most lucky to be given to the Priestesses, some in Camelot fearing what Uther might do if she remained there. Babes died too frequently and few would guess the truth - or dare to voice their suspicions - if the child had fallen ill.

Morgana took the news well, shocked but…expecting it almost? She seemed to feel the connection between them as Morgause did, the instinctual bond that told her that this story was true. When she reached out hesitantly and squeezed Morgause’s hand, a warmth rushed through the older sorceress of the type she was unfamiliar with.

They had both been without someone to share this connection with for too long.

“What about Gwen?” Morgana asked quietly a while later as the ate together for the first time.

“Gwen?”

“My maid.”

Morgause nodded. She’d been watching and had waited until the maid had gone to fetch fresh water from the stream before carrying out her plan. 

“She was unharmed. I changed the forest path so it took her longer to get back to where you were. She returned to find you gone and evidence of bandits.”

Quite clear evidence too. Some men - robbers - had tried to attack Morgause in the forest on her travels. She’d dealt with them quickly and decisively before realising that the delay was in fact fortuitous and she could use them to her advantage. She’d left a body in the clearing, Morgana’s knife sticking out of him, irrefutable evidence of a struggle. It wouldn’t be the first time such men had taken a high born woman, hoping to sell her. The Old Religion had once dealt with such crimes personally but now…

“She’ll be worried,” Morgana reasoned, absently tearing a chuck off her bread.

“Unfortunate but necessary. You were not safe in Camelot.”

Morgana didn’t try to refute that.

That night, Morgana asked her to stay. She gave an awkward, uncertain speech about barely knowing Morgause but feeling safe in her presence nonetheless. She was afraid of her dreams and they’d been stronger than ever the previous night, the Isle making her magic blossom even without her command. She feared what she might do if she awoke in a start and didn’t want to be alone.

Morgause wore a mask of gentle calm, reassuring her that she’d be protected here. That no harm would come to her now. But, yes, she would stay if Morgana wished it.

The first night she slept in the chair at the fireside. By the third, at Morgana’s insistence, she was in the bed. By week’s end Morgana was curled up properly at her side, safe in dreamless contentment.

Morgause didn’t mind. In fact, it was a most unexpected gift, to feel another’s affection towards her with such strength. It was soon apparent that Morgana trusted her implicitly and there was a deep beauty in the innocent surrender of it. Like something delicate blossoming anew, fragile and lovely. Morgause had never experienced such a thing.

Her own attachment towards Morgana was stronger than she’d imagined it’d be at this stage, fierce and growing rapidly. She felt love towards her, that much was immediately clear and was nothing she saw the need to hide.

It was not of the kind she’d expected though.

**********************

They dressed Morgana in green, stripping away her Camelot finery, and she looked even more resplendent for it. The Isle was so grey these days, dead or dying - none of them really knew for certain - but Morgana brightened it. At least she did for Morgause. She was Morgause’s hope that they could get back what they’d lost and perhaps so much more. That they were finally making progress.

Morgana, for her part, proved a willing and avid pupil even if she wasn’t fully aware of the burden that might one day rest on her shoulders. She learnt far more quickly than Morgause ever could’ve imagined for one who’d never been trained. She was a High Priestess and her gifts were naturally strong but Morgana took to mastering them with a fierce determination that Morgause wouldn’t have credited a lord’s daughter with possessing. It would take her many years to gain true control and power but with her keenness, Morgause had no doubt that she’d achieve it.

“I’ve been afraid of these powers for too long,” Morgana said firmly when asked. “I’ve been at the mercy of others for too long. I don’t want that ever again. I want control.”

Morgause swelled with pride as she watched her grow. Watched her bloom. She’d never witness the ascent of a High Priestess herself and it truly was wonderful. Right now Morgana was delicate and soft, her magic fresh and young, but there was a hint of the magnificence there to come. 

On Beltane they celebrated; another year of survival, another year of hanging on to life and their ways. This time there was greater hope though. For the first time in near fifteen years their numbers had grown. Even Brighid had mellowed over the matter as she saw that her worst fears were not to come to pass; Uther had no idea where his ward was. Now she spoke to Morgana with kind respect, patient as she explained things that every child should know had they been brought up properly.

The five priestesses were all involved in guiding their youngest member, taking joy in her training and her development. It was a symbol of things that might be if they could burn Uther’s hatred from this land.

Morgause watched Morgana with different eyes though, with a different gaze full of more than pride or love. It was longing, a sensation she’d never experienced before, filled with a need for something she’d never had. She wasn’t sure she _should_ have it, at least from this woman. Did it not cross a line or boundary that should remain uncrossed?

Morgana didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps she was too used to people looking at her in this way - a king’s ward was always desirable after all - or perhaps she was too caught in the victory of her own progress. Either way though, she gave no indication of noticing anything and Morgause said nothing to her for fear of tainting what they already had. She didn’t want to lose it.

But Morgana danced around the Beltane fires with the others, free and beautiful, and when she followed their lead and removed her dress, Morgause found her eyes drawn in a way that they’d never been before. 

Nimueh moved to Morgause’s side, hand on the small of her back, a knowing smirk quirking at her lips. Her playful wickedness stemmed from kindness though. She wanted to see things progress too.

“She’s a beautiful young woman indeed,” she whispered to Morgause. “And if you do not intend to take her for lover, then I will.”

**********************

Morgause finally kissed Morgana shortly after Morgana’s eighteenth birthday. They were sitting on one of the few green patches of grass left on the Isle, learning the magic of winter. Seasonly magic was highly powerful if crafted correctly but Morgana was still not entirely skilled at pushing it outwards and her hands chilled fiercely, fingers going grey with cold. Morgause clutched them between her own, breathing on them warmly and rubbing them to bring the blood back, instructing her how to avoid such a thing in the future. 

Such closeness between them was commonplace, but when she looked up to check that Morgana understood, she was silenced by the look she caught in her eyes instead. Instantly she knew that the other woman felt the connection of the moment and she would’ve been a fool to waste it.

Morgana lips were as soft as they appeared, gentle and hesitant, and it crossed Morgause’s mind that this may be the other woman’s first ever kiss. It was an unhurried affair, her hands still clutching Morgana’s throughout, her mouth never pressing on or urging anything deeper. Not looking for more just yet. She just kept kissing her, learning the hint of her taste and feel of her intimate presence for several minutes of soft bliss until Morgana finally drew back.

“But…you’re my sister…” she said with a frown of confusion. She didn’t look upset or, Goddess forbid, disgusted, but genuinely confused. By her own feelings too, Morgause thought.

She pressed her forehead forward, resting it against Morgana’s, both comforting her and gaining comfort.

“The mortal bonds of blood mean little to our kind. It’s magic that binds us, Morgana. Magic is everything. You are as much a sister to the others as you are to me. But they do not feel for you how I do.”

No, despite Nimueh’s teasing, she’d not made any play for Morgana’s attentions. She understood that do so would be a cruelty to Morgause.

Morgana looked down for a moment, letting her mind consider Morgause’s words.

And then she kissed Morgause again, pressing her body close.

Apparently, it made sense.

*********************

“I have heard of such things,” Morgana said thoughtfully as they lay together, looking up at the stars. “Of women loving other women. Women tend talk about it in scandalised voices and men…well they seem to find the notion alluring.”

Morgause huffed a short laugh, fingers lightly trailing down Morgana’s back in a caress that may have seemed possessive if she wasn’t always so clear that she respected and valued Morgana’s independence.

“Most men seem to think that women exist in order to be alluring to them. Or to serve them. Which is why it was a rare man who had the qualities that a High Priestess considered suitable in a lover.”

Curious, Morgana rolled onto her stomach to look down at Morgause, dark hair tumbling down free. Unstyled but still quite beautiful.

“Did you take no lovers then?”

Their own affections hadn’t progressed further than kisses and gentle caresses even though many weeks had passed since the first admission of feelings between them. Morgause was in no hurry. Sex was not, for her, a goal to be reached as soon as possible. Nor had she any interest in simple physical pleasures. She wanted and craved much more than that. A connection deeper than she’d ever shared.

“No,” she replied, quite openly. “As I said, there are few left who are considered worthy of knowing a Priestess in that way.”

Morgana nodded and settled down again. They lay at each other’s side, watching the still sky in silence for a while.

“Have you ever looked at a woman in such a way before?” Morgause asked, her own curiosity coming to the fore. Her fingers played absently with a strand of Morgana’s hair, twirling it around her fingers.

Morgana’s mouth quirked into a mildly embarrassed smile. “Sometimes I would look at my maid’s breasts…”

Morgause remembered the other woman. She was beautiful and Morgause nodded with a teasing grin of approval.

“As a good ward I’m sure you flushed with guilt for such sinful thoughts and looked hurriedly away.”

Morgana gave her a dry, scolding glare before she spoke.

“Mostly I felt guilty for sneaking glances without telling her. It didn’t seem…honest.”

Morgause smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair. Oh yes, clearly a Priestess at heart. No man - outside those loyal to the Old Religion - would ever feel guilty about looking at a woman in such a way. The Old Religion saw these things differently though. It respected a woman’s right not to be treated as an object of pleasure. Not that Morgause saw much wrong with Morgana’s admiration.

“Did you look at my breasts then?” she asked with an even more wicked grin.

Morgana rolled onto her side again, looking down at Morgause and tormenting her with a considering chew of her lip before answering. “I may have stole a glance or two at Beltane, yes.”

“And…?”

Morgana hesitated again. “Pleasing…” she eventually settled on.

Morgause arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“That was my initial appraisal.”

Morgause grinned again, a quite predatory glint in her eye. She’d no shyness about her body and no shame of revealing it. The body of a woman was beautiful, a vessel of life to be worshipped, and she didn’t hesitate to undo the ties on her light shirt and draw the material apart.

“Perhaps a closer look,” she suggested.

She wanted to be admired by this woman more than anyone. She made Morgause feel desirable in a way she’d barely considered before and the feeling was uplifting.

Morgana’s gaze was indeed wanting but her fingers hesitant, taking a long moment before they gently brushed the underside of Morgause’s small breasts. Morgause - deciding that actions rather than words would give Morgana confidence - rested her hand over Morgana’s, guiding it, tracing her fingers around the swell of flesh and over an already hardened nipple.

“Tell me, Morgana,” she murmured, her voice warm in a way that she didn’t even recognise, “what do you truly think now?”

Morgana stared boldly back at her with dark eyes, her shyness gone. 

“That the beauty of women outmatches men in every way.”

When Nimueh arrived a short time later, Morgana was still kissing Morgause’s breasts, her tongue caressing and exploring every inch of flesh as the older woman’s fingers ran tenderly through her hair, a look of gentle pleasure on her own face.

“Ladies…” the sorceress interrupted with amusement, not even attempting to pretend that she hadn’t seen. “Our meal is ready. Unless you…were intending to dine on something else.”

Morgause felt no embarrassment at being caught in such a position. A Priestess had no secrets amongst her kin and pleasure was considered a thing of purest nature not sin to hide behind closed doors. Sitting up, she kissed Morgana gently before closing her shirt again.

“No,” she replied. “Not tonight.”

Their time would come.

********************

They finally made love that spring. It was no hurried, rushed affair of built frustration, but a gradual tumble towards the inevitable.

They’d slept naked together long before it happened, bodies curled up in innocence, taking comfort in closeness of skin and entirely at ease with it.

But Morgause didn’t want to be the first to touch Morgana; that honour should belong to Morgana herself and was a principle she stuck to firmly. The concept confused the other woman at first but Morgause’s teaching in this were as patient as any of her others - Morgana’s body was her own, no one had right or dominion over it. She should know herself better than anyone, know what pleasured her and know all the gifts and blessings she’d been given. Then she could decide who to give them to. Then she could tell others how to please her.

And Morgana, it turned out, really did know nothing beyond the very basics, so much so that it dismayed Morgause to realise a woman could truly be so ignorant as to how her own body worked. She instructed Morgana to watch her, to see how a woman touched herself and tended to her own needs. She explained the wetness Morgana found between her legs from watching Morgause, about where and how women generally liked to be touched, and then encouraged Morgana to sit back in her arms. She guided Morgana’s fingers, helping her to seek out the flesh that would bring her most pleasure. When she was sure Morgana understood the principle, she released her hand to explore of its own accord, simply supporting the other woman and whispering words of encouragement. Telling her to find and know herself. It took her a while but eventually she was gasping and panting softly, shuddering with her first release. It was utterly beautiful and, really, utterly frustrating.

Morgause was patient but it was almost torturous to have Morgana writhing with pleasure in her lap and not be able to touch her. Yet they continued in this manner for many weeks. Only when she found Morgana one morning, sprawled on the bed, touching herself with no instruction at all, did Morgause finally give in to her own incessant need.

She tasted better than Morgause could’ve imagined - not sweet as the more risque bards and poets would claim, but like some warm nectar, strong with nature. She was a true creature of the Goddess now and it was a blessing to pleasure her. She didn’t try to stifle her cries as Morgause’s tongue found the rhythm she liked, and the feel of her legs over Morgause’s own shoulders and her desperate fingers in blonde hair brought a sense of new, deep power that was intoxicating.

Wilful creature that she was, she barely recovered from that first experience before insisting upon returning the favour, getting Morgause to sit on the edge of the bed so she could kneel between her parted legs. Morgause guided her like any other lesson whilst Morgana was clumsy and unpractised but bold, not afraid to experiment and not about to give up. At first Morgause moaned to encourage her, to tell her she was on the right track. Then she moaned because she had no choice, looking down to watch Morgana and see the depth of love in her eyes.

Their nights were filled with pleasure after that.

The first time she slid a finger inside Morgana, Morgana bucked sharply in surprise but clutched Morgause’s arms tight and began to rock her hips in want almost immediately, encouraging her to continue. The times when she sat on Morgause’s lap, bucking in rhythm with the thrusting fingers inside her were the times when Morgause thought she looked most magnificent. When she really saw the true Priestess starting to emerge.

Sometimes they were gentle and tender in their passions, taking things so very slowly. She learnt though that sometimes Morgana liked things roughly too and that suited Morgause well. There was a powerful trust to seeing Morgana on her knees, wanting and needy. It cemented the bond between them further.

Magic entered their love making in Morgana’s fifth summer on the Isle, just after she officially became of age. Morgause had never felt anything more intense, had never felt more connected to the earth around her. She clung to Morgana like she was the only thing anchoring her to the world and let herself surrender to sensations that threatened to drown them both with the intensity of the pleasure.

At Beltane - the most abandoned and celebratory Morgause had ever known - they made love around the great fire whilst the others drank sweet wine and danced naked to celebrate the life given to them. Morgause thought she heard Damara and Epane crying out with pleasure too - with each other or alone, she wasn’t sure - yet she paid little heed to it. All she could see was Morgana. Morgana who writhed above her, the flicker of flames illuminating her glorious body as she pressed the blessed phallus into Morgause with deepest want. Morgana who gasped, eyes burning dark with lust and adoration, her body moving with ancient motion.

Morgause whispered the word ‘goddess’ as her hand caressed up the other woman’s body and the flames grew higher in pleased response. 

The Old Religion sensed hope again in this passionate, wilful sorceress and her calm warrior.

Morgana had grown and her beauty had deepened with it, her countenance becoming more regal. Enchantress. Born to be a queen, Morgause thought.

So did Brighid.

********************

“The others think you should return to Camelot. We are too few to fight an open war. Other tactics are needed to remove Uther from his throne.”

They lay in a sprawl of naked limbs, covered in perspiration and each other’s wetness. Perhaps it was a poor time to bring this up but Morgause was not in the habit of keeping secrets from Morgana and Brighid had made her intents quite clear when they’d spoken the previous evening.

There was a plan in place and their time of peace was coming to an end. It was everything Morgause had ever wanted - to fight back against Camelot and it’s tyrant King - yet now there was a personal concern in place.

Morgana though she just nodded and then was quiet a moment before replying.

“I have unique position,” she agreed calmly, taking it well. “I could ensure that I’m found. Tell them I was made a slave these past years but escaped my captors. Arthur will be made crown prince within the year. It’s a good time to press our advantage.”

Morgause studied her carefully. It was wonderful to see her confidence, to realised that Morgana held no fear of Camelot as she once had. But at the same time she’d hoped Morgana would fight the plan more.

“Brighid seems to think he could be turned against his father,” Morgause continued, trying to keep to business. “That we could persuade him to accept the Old Ways.”

She wasn’t entirely convinced - Arthur was his father’s loyal soldier - but Morgana looked thoughtful.

“He doesn’t know of the great lies Uther has told. But if he did…” She lifted her head from Morgause’s breast to smile in the hope of triumph, eyes sparkling with possibility. “Uther’s greatest failure would be to see his son undo all his work.”

Morgause nodded and reached out to tuck Morgana’s messy hair behind her ears with affection, pausing to kiss her. She was right perhaps but it was not that simple. 

“It will not be easy - you will have to endure the sights of Uther’s cruelty and you will not be able to intervene. Do not risk yourself. I do not want to see you hurt and this may be our last chance.”

Morgana looked momentarily troubled by that but she nodded. She knew the ends would justify what she had to let go.

Morgause hesitated again. There was more.

“Brighid suggest perhaps you try to cement your position of influence in Camelot. A ward is all well and good, but as its queen and mother to its heir you would have greater power there. She sees what we might achieve with a High Priestess in such a position.”

That did take Morgana by surprise.

“Become Arthur’s wife? Bear his child?”

“Not my favourite part of the plan, I admit.” Morgause’s voice was dry but she was more bothered by the idea than she liked to admit. A touch of jealousy perhaps but it was more than that; she didn’t think him worthy of laying with this woman she loved so dearly. It seemed an affront to the Goddess to let it happen. And yet it was a sensible strategy. Surely even Arthur would fight for the rights of his queen and child if their heritage was revealed?

Morgana’s determination was steely and Brighid knew that and used it. Morgana had waited too long to be able to play her part and would do whatever was asked of her.

“I’m sure he will not please me as you do,” she soothed, making light of it even if she could see the true trouble in Morgause’s eyes. She shifted, laying on top of Morgause, warm flesh pressed together.

“I do not like to think of his hands upon you,” Morgause muttered in confession, her own running down Morgana’s back.

Morgana grinned.

“So very possessive…” she cooed, pausing to kiss her. “Then you must visit me often, remind me why yours are better. Perhaps I could even take you as a lady’s maid.”

That got her pinned to the bed and a rough love making filled with a torturous delay of pleasure as Morgause showed her just how well she knew her body’s wants by now. Staking claim over her almost. Morgana didn’t seem to mind int he slightest.

Later, satisfied once more, Morgana returned to pondering.

“He may not even care for me,” she reasoned between kissing Morgause’s collarbone. “He may have no interest in taking me for a queen.”

“Only if he’s blind.” She paused. “Were you close with him?”

“Sometimes. He was kind to me when I first arrived there. He can be an arrogant fool at times but he’s quite different from his father, however Uther wants to mould him.”

That gave Morgause some hope at least. Maybe this boy prince could have his eyes opened to the truth. And perhaps he would treat her lady how she deserved.

“If I have a child,” Morgana continued, “will it be like us?”

It made Morgause feel better to hear her say ‘us’.

“Of course. You will guide it beautiful, teach it the right ways, and it will help us put the Old Religion back into this land. The child would bring hope.”

Which was all well and good but there was a disappointment in Morgana’s eyes as she settled against Morgause again.

“It should be our child,” Morgana murmured with a slight sadness.

Morgause slid her hand into Morgana’s.

“One day perhaps…”

Morgause prepared her the next morning, creating a tattered dress for her to wear, using magic to create the ghosts of bruising and misuse. She took Morgana to the outskirts of the city herself, risking one more kiss in freedom before letting her go.

Then she watched, Morgana stumbling back towards the city and collapsing in the sight of the guards, playing her role perfectly already. She would open Arthur’s eyes to the corruption of his lands or tear unworthy Camelot down so they could start anew. 

And Morgause was prepared to follow her wherever that battle led.


End file.
